7: Tintin in Venice
by DisneyPrincess55
Summary: While on their honeymoon in Italy, Tintin and Nollie come face-to-face with a double homicide of two unknown tourist girls. Can they solve the murder... or will it just ruin their honeymoon? Please read & review! :)
1. Chapter 1

**IT'S NOLLIE'S BIRTHDAY! I made her birthday 10/22/1911 because October 22nd is St. John Paul II's feast day (he's bae) and my aunt's birthday. Sooo... I actually think this one needs to be the last Tintin and Nollie story. This one's gonna be short, I know it, because I'm super busy already but I just HAD to write one more... to kinda put some closure into the stories. But I don't want them to be overrr :( Anyway, see you at the bottom! This one's gonna be sorta dark. Hehe. ~DP55**

One

Honeymoon

It was _supposed_ to be our honeymoon.

It was the perfect trip: three weeks in Italy! Venice, Verona, Milan—and then we'd be hopping a plane to Rome towards the end of the trip. A _plane_! I'd never ridden on a plane before—Tintin had been thrilled to finally get me into the air. _Had_ been. As I said before, it was supposed to be our perfectly-planned-out honeymoon…but with Tintin, the world-famous journalist as a husband, plans don't usually keep.

The morning after our wedding, we boarded the train for the long ride all the way to Milan. I brought several books for the ride—English to Italian dictionaries, _A Million Things to Do in Italy—Fifth Edition_ , _Milan: A History_ … I'd taken any and every book on Italy from the library in the few days before the wedding, much to Isabelle's disapproval."You mustn't be worrying about the honeymoon now," she chided, "You're getting married in _two days_ , after all…" She'd delighted in helping with the final wedding preparations—there wasn't much to be done, and yet she wanted to do it all. She _insisted_ on it. She ordered the flowers, hemmed my mother's wedding gown so it would fit me…she was the patron saint of wedding preparations. And yet, despite her best efforts to make everything go perfectly as planned, it didn't.

It all began the evening we arrived in Venice. The sun was taking her last bow before dancing her way into the tufty, purple curtains, and the stars were beginning to dot the sky where she had once been. We'd just taken our bags from the cab and were on our way to our hotel, arm in arm, laughing about the cab driver. He was a stout, grouchy old man with the thickest black mustache I'd ever seen. He'd asked if we were cousins upon entering his cab—Tintin had chuckled at this, before explaining to him in fluent Italian that we were newlyweds. The man didn't even bother to congratulate us—he just grumbled something Italian and took us to Venice. "He probably just had a long day," I giggled as we crossed a bridge, leaning on Tintin.

Tintin smiled, pausing for a moment at the arch of the bridge. "Yes, several very long days with lots and lots of silly newlywed tourists." He leaned against the cement railing, and I did the same.

"It was a very long trip."

"Yes, but my companion made it worthwhile." The way he looked at me made my insides turn to mush. Slowly he leaned in towards me and kissed me softly, innocently, and I forgot how to breathe. When we broke, he took my hand and we were on our way to the hotel.

After we'd dropped our bags, we decided to go get something to eat. I changed into a black velvet evening gown Tintin had bought me in Verona. I'd insisted it was too expensive, but he waived off the price with a simple, "The wearer must be the most beautiful girl in the world. We have found her, and she is _not_ going home without this gown." I felt spoiled and unworthy for this gown, but Tintin couldn't keep his eyes off of me. " _You're_ my wife?" He beamed after I changed. "Wow." He wrapped his hands around my waist and stared at me, jaw gaping. "Just… _wow_." I kissed him at this, and we were off.

We dined on garlic-and-butter pasta under the moonlight, and he tried to teach me simple Italian phrases that I might need for the remainder of our trip. " _Ciao_ is hello," he explained, twirling pasta onto his fork, "And _addio_ is goodbye."

"Ciao," I repeated, and he smiled.

"Yeah, that's right. Now, to introduce yourself, you would say _ciao il mio nome es Nollie_."

"But your name isn't Nollie," I teased, and he rolled his eyes. "How would you say… I am his wife?"

A happy little grin crossed his face as he remembered that I was his wife now. " _Io sono sua moglie_."

By the time we'd finished our meal, Tintin had taught me five phrases in Italian, with plans to teach me more in time. We walked back to our hotel room hand in hand, talking about tomorrow's itinerary.

"I think tomorrow morning I'll take you on a canal boat," he explained as we crossed the last bridge before reaching our hotel, " _Early_ tomorrow morning. It's just spectacular. You are going to love it, I promise you." He leaned against the cement railing again, pointing towards the horizon. "If we go out early enough, we will see the sun rise. Won't that be incredible?"

"It's like the sun will be rising on our life together," I smiled, watching his face light up at this proposition.

"It will be," he grinned, reaching out to wrap his arm around me. He was about to continue when the shots rang out.

Tintin didn't wrap his arm around me at this—he threw his arms around me, yanking me behind him and into a crouch so we were cowering in the shadow of the bridge. By this time, there had been five shots. Shaken with horror, I began to sob into my palm quietly, praying that whoever the shots had been aimed at were going to be okay.

There were six more shots before the air was still again, at which Tintin helped me to my feet, wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed my forehead. "Nollie," he whispered, and I knew what he was going to say next. "I need to go see—"

"I know," I swallowed hard, "I'll come with you."

"Sweetheart, it's not safe."

"Yeah, and so why would I let my husband go in there alone?" He stared at me as though he had no idea what to say next. " _Io sono tua moglie_. I am your wife. Let me come with you."

Apparently Italian is very convincing, because instead of leading me back to the hotel, Tintin allowed me to come with him to find out who fired those shots. The shooting took place not even a block from where we'd been standing, leaving two girls lying dead, face-first on the street, blood seeping out of their multiple gunshot wounds. There was a crowd of people circling around the bodies when we got there, and everyone was either shouting words in Italian or crying. Tintin was one of those shouting in Italian—except he was trying to part the crowd so we could get in. When this proved useless, he began to push past people, dragging me along, towards the center of the circle. As soon as we reached the center, he turned to me.

"Do not leave my sight, do you understand?" His tone was dark, annoyed just in the slightest. "These people…" He turned away from me, beginning to inspect the bodies of the girls.

I shouldn't say girls. They were more of young women, probably eighteen or nineteen, like us. One girl had five gunshot wounds, while the other had six. Each had four in the abdomen, while the girl with five shots—the blonde one—had one in the head. The girl with black hair had one in the head and one in the neck. My stomach convulsed as I stared at them, and I tried to ignore the fact that the hem of my new black dress was trailing into a puddle of blood. _Oh well. It's washable._ I watched as Tintin rolled the black-haired girl onto her back, searching for any form of identification. She wasn't carrying anything—no clutch purse, nothing. There were bruises on her face—they looked as though they'd been there for a day or two, not a few hours. I crouched beside the blonde and rolled her over to find similar bruises on her face. The blonde girl didn't have anything either—just herself. Her patterned white dress was tattered and dirty, ripped in places…as if she'd been wearing it for days. The black-haired girl's dress was in similar condition, again. It was almost as though they'd escaped from somewhere and had been on the run when they were killed.

"Tintin," I whispered, "I think these girls…"

"Someone had been holding them hostage and pursued them after they escaped," he concluded, staring at me.

 **Nollie can't take Tintin anywhere. Anyway, check out Tintin & Nollie's blog (google search tintinnollie & it's the first link) for my little happy celebratory birthday post for Nollie. And then review! Yay! I love you guys. I hope you guys like my stories. ~DisneyPrincess55**


	2. Chapter 2

**HIIII guys! Sorry this one is so overdue, I've been so busy with school and my new job and everything and this chapter has been super tough to write... But I finally got it done! So happy Thanksgiving! :) Hopefully over Winter Break I'll get a couple more chapters done! See you at the bottom :) ~DP55**

Two

Silence

Several police officers showed up not long after us, clearing the crowd, and, eventually, us. Tintin had protested, speaking words I didn't understand in harsh tones at them, trying to persuade them to let us stay. They didn't listen, and soon we were back at our hotel room, the lights dim, Tintin pacing the oval rug on the floor in front of the bed. I sat at the edge of the bed, two strides away—but he didn't notice. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, expression unreadable, as he paced around in circles.

"Tintin."

He didn't stop walking.

I persisted, despite this. "Tintin. They don't want a moat in the middle of the room."

Didn't stop.

I scooted towards the edge of the bed, slid my feet onto the floor, walked towards him and reached for him. He avoided me, trading my embrace for a dark stare. "Tintin, you're scaring me."

"Those girls were tourists," he finally spoke, his voice a mere whisper, "I could tell by their clothing."

"So?"

" _So_ , I am trying to decipher why there was a predator involved in a simple Italian holiday." The way he said _predator_ sent a chill down my spine.

"It isn't our problem, Tintin. This is our honeymoon. Please…let's get ready for bed." I was exhausted and tired of wearing this gown—especially now that the hemline was soaked in another girl's blood.

"Get some sleep. What are we doing tomorrow?"

"The plan is to be at St. Marco's Basilica by ten."

"Then we'll be there." He was fibbing. He'd most likely stay up all night thinking about those girls, not get a wink of sleep, and I wouldn't get to see St. Marco's Basilica until I was eighty-seven years old. Some honeymoon this was turning out to be.

I changed into my lilac purple silk nightgown and slipped into bed, pulling the duvet up over my head to block out the light and the sound of my husband's new brown oxford shoes pacing the hotel room floor. _Maybe I'll just go to the Basilica on my own. No, Tintin won't allow that. After all, he's digging a hole in the hotel floor, making himself silly over those girls._ I just really wanted to see that Basilica.

The next morning, I awoke beside Tintin—still in his day clothes, his new brown oxfords on his feet. "How late were you up?" When he opened his eyes they were bleary with sleep—as if he had just fallen asleep.

"Not long after you fell asleep, sweetheart…" He _had_ to be lying.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Of course."

"Why are you so worried about those girls? They aren't our problem. This is our honeymoon, and worrying about them is just going to ruin it."

"I want to solve the problem so that others don't have a similar occurrence."

"I doubt that would happen. Come on, it's already nine, we need to get going."

"The girls had no identification, and yet they were tourists. Everyone knows that when you go on holiday you're supposed to keep your valuables with you." He looked at me, mystified, and rose from the bed. "Someone had been holding them hostage, but I can't put my finger on why. Did they commit a crime? Or…" He paused, "Were they being held as…prostitutes?" They hadn't been dressed like it, but he had a point. Perhaps they'd been captured and held as their captor's prostitutes.

"Why would they be the prey?"

"Tourists are extremely susceptible targets, Nollie…often times they don't speak the same language, or…" He cut himself off and crossed across the room to the table where his suitcase was, opened it, and began to sift through his array of shirts.

"Or what?"

He didn't answer me. Was this going to become a habit of his—not answering my questions? I didn't ask—I didn't want to know the answer. What kind of husband ignores his wife's questions?

Apparently mine.

We dressed in silence—he finished getting ready before me, and went for the door. "Where are you going?" My voice quavered at this, worried he wasn't going to answer me again. _Oh, wonderful. Married one day, separated the next._

"Breakfast."

"Wait for me!" I was hopping after him, pulling on my shoes, but he was already out the door. _Had I done something wrong?_ I yanked my shoe on and raced after him. "Tintin," I snapped the second he was within earshot, running up to take his arm, "What is going on? Have I done something wrong?" I didn't want to know the answer. What if he ended everything right then and there? He could just take the shiny new wedding band off of his finger and toss it away as if it meant nothing. As if his vows meant nothing.

"Nollie Angeline," he'd begun, a glimmer of excitement in his gray eyes as he stood at the altar, ring in his hand, "Anyone can say 'in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer'—but we are not just anyone. With this ring, I promise to love and cherish you in all the days of my life. I promise to be your light in the dark, a beacon for which you know you are safe beside and you know you can always return to. This ring exists as a reminder that I have chosen you above all others to share my life with. This," he murmured, sliding the ring onto my finger, "Is my promise of love to you."

Back in the hotel now, I was still trying to get my husband to stop." _Tintin_ ," I pulled at his arm, dragging him to a stop, " _Io sono sua moglie._ I am your wife. Tell me what is going on." My heart was pounding and my stomach had tied itself in knots. I felt as if I was going to vomit—but I couldn't. Not here.

He took a long, long moment to collect his thoughts before finally speaking.

"I believe I am a danger to you," he said slowly, clearly. His words hit me like a train—I was reminded of Lady Magnolia's feat and his similar argument from then. _"I have discovered that whenever I am with you, your life is always jeopardized, and I don't want you to risk your life anymore, not for me. It's not right."_ He'd argued, before briefly breaking up with me.

"You are not. You are my hero," I took his arm, which had now fallen limp, and wrapped it around my waist.

"Everywhere we go there is some…some _threat_ …and I can't…" He was clearly exhausted.

"Darling, listen to me." I took his arms and laced them around my waist, pulled myself close to him, looked deep into his gray eyes. This seemed to perk him up. "Whenever I am with you I know I am safe. I am in no danger right now, nor ever."

"But what if—" I didn't let him finish. I'd enveloped his lips with mine.

 **OKAY BUT LIKE TINTIN'S VOWS THOUGH. I was getting emotional writing them like, "oh my gosh my babies are all grown up!" xD Anyway this chapter isn't amazing but I tried to make it fairly good x) I hope you liked it! Please review/follow the story/follow me and check out Tintin & Nollie's blog by Googling tintinnollie. ~DisneyPrincess55**


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Lucille and Moira

Instead of going to the Basilica, as was planned for the day, we ended up at the site of the girls' murder. It was ten o'clock in the morning and yet the sun was nowhere in sight—instead thick, gray clouds loomed overhead. It was going to rain, but this didn't phase Tintin. He was determined to learn what happened, even if it meant ruining our honeymoon. He was also determined to leave me back at the hotel, but I insisted he take me along—after all, this was still our honeymoon.

When we reached the site of the murder, the bodies had been removed from the sidewalk. What remained were two trampled roses a passerby must've left in memoriam for the girls. The ground where the bodies had been was stained with blood…not a soul had bothered to clean it up. The rain that was beginning to fall would soon do the work for them.

"Tintin, we're not going to find anything," I murmured, but he ignored me, stooping down beside the bloodstained path. The rain was beginning to fall harder. "Tintin, we should be looking at the bodies…" Again, my comment was ignored, and he rose, moving up the path, away from me. I heard the sound of a tiny piece of metal clinking across the sidewalk and Tintin dropped to the ground to pick up the tiny object.

A shell. A bullet shell—still in pristine condition, as though it had just been fired from its gun. Tintin approached me, holding the copper shell in his fingers, grinning. "This belongs to the killer," he announced, resting it in his palm and closing his fingers around it. "It's a nine millimeter Gilsenti cartridge…from an Italian pistol. The killer was a local."

"Now what do we do?"

"My suggestion is that we find out what they did with the bodies of those girls. Perhaps overnight they were identified."

"How are we ever going to find them?"

"Good question." Tintin paced up the sidewalk and back towards me, planting the bullet shell in my hand. "Perhaps we should ask around, see if anyone knows of a morgue nearby."

"Or perhaps we should just go to the basilica and let someone else take care of this," I heard myself say.

He glanced at me. He was soaked in rain, his orange hair a sopping mess. "Let's go." My heart sank. Of course we weren't going to the Basilica. The mystery girls were too important for us to enjoy our honeymoon. How selfish of me to think of myself before the dead girls.

Tintin was beginning to walk away from the scene when a boy—well, more of a young man—appeared at the murder site. His head was bent into his jacket, as if he didn't want us to see his face. The raindrops dripped off his hat as he stared down at the bloodstained sidewalk. I watched as he stooped to pick up one of the trampled roses, admiring it for a moment, before stuffing it into his pocket. I approached him, alarmed.

" _Hey_!" I shouted, "Those roses were left in memoriam of the two girls who were murdered… you have no right to—"

He looked up at me from the shadow of his hat. He stood once more, dark brown eyes glaring at me.

" _Come osi accusarmi di queste sciocchezze, brutta ragazza_ ," he snapped. I stared at him, speechless.

" _Non parlare con lei in quel modo!_ " Tintin had appeared behind me, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me away from the Italian man, locking eyes with him in the meantime. " _Chi sei, a chiamare mia moglie una brutta ragazza?_ " With that, he marched me away from the man.

When we were far enough away from the Italian man, he stopped and stared at me, eyes searching mine dangerously. "What on _earth_ do you think you were doing?"

"He took one of the roses that was left for the girls!"

Tintin sighed. "That's how you get killed." He began to walk away from me, and I hurried to catch up with him.

"No it isn't. He was just a stranger with a temper. Possible flower fetish."

Tintin chuckled at my remark. "All right, Sherlock, if that's what you think."

I stopped in my tracks. "What did he say to me?"

"He simply said: 'how dare you accuse me of such nonsense.' That was all."

"You do not have to protect me from his words, Tintin. What did he say to me?"

"He called you an ugly girl."

I waited for the stranger's words to bite, but the sting never came. "Oh. That's all right."

"What do you mean, that's all right?"

"It doesn't matter. We need to find the bodies of the girls." I continued walking, crossing the same bridge we'd gone over last night to go to dinner. Tintin wasn't following me.

" _Nollie_." I was halfway across the bridge when he reached me, grabbing my hand and turning me to face him. "Do you not believe you are beautiful?"

"I know that I am not."

He exhaled. "Then I have failed you." He paused, collecting his words. "Nollie, sweetheart, you are the most beautiful, stunning girl on the planet. After all, I could never dream of marrying an ugly—" he stopped himself, an amused smile crossing his face. "Perhaps you do not believe me because I always say something stupid instead of what you want to hear."

"That was not stupid. Nobody would ever want to marry an ugly girl, I understand. But what I do not understand is how you say that when you've already married one."

His amused smile turned into a downcast frown. "Sweetheart…"

"You are the only person in the entire world who thinks of me that way, so _someone_ must be wrong…"

"And you believe it's your _husband_ who is?"

I rolled my eyes and strode away from him. "Let's just go figure out what happened to those girls."

"Their names are Lucille Ravenna and Moira Chatfield," the mortician's voice was slow and daunting as he told us the names of the girls. "A passerby of the scene came by and said she'd met them on the train ride from England." We'd asked to see the girls, explaining it was to help find their murderer, but he forbid us from seeing their bodies.

"What was the girl's name?" Tintin demanded. The mortician blinked at him slowly before pointing to a scrap of paper. Scribbled on the paper was the name _Chiarina Guarneri_.

"What a pretty name," I murmured. Tintin took my hand, nodded to the mortician, and led me out the door.

"Chiarina Guarneri," he murmured, "Chiarina Guarneri…"

"Why are you repeating yourself?" I chuckled.

"I think that this Chiarina Guarneri might know a thing or two about our girls…Moira and Lucille." He squeezed my hand, "We should find her."

I stopped in my tracks, noticing the darkness that had consumed the bustling city. "It's getting late."

He stared at me, and through the darkness, I could see his gray eyes piercing into mine. "That is so, however we really haven't a moment to lose…"

With this, he pulled me back in the direction of the hotel, determined to find a telephone book.

 **Happy New Year! Chiarina is such a pretty name! Ugh I love it xD anyway, I wrote this chapter with my new Tintin beanie baby... I have his cute little story on Tintin and Nollie's blog if you want to check it out. Just search tintinnollie & click the first link! Anyway, review for chapter FOUR! I'm going to go get started on it right now :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hii everybody! I know, this chapter has taken forever to write... I'm so sorry! I've been terribly busy, and this month is flying by (thankfully. I hate February and I want spring!) Anyway, here's chapter four! Enjoy :)**

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Four

Sunrise

Tintin had been seated at the tiny oak desk in our hotel room, hunched over the telephone book, for twenty minutes. Every now and then he would mutter something to himself, usually about that mystery girl Chiarina. He was so determined to find her I was almost certain he'd forgotten I was there. I'd slipped into my lilac silk nightgown the moment we got back to the room and was now sprawled out on the bed, reading _Gone With The Wind_. Every once in awhile I'd find myself watching my husband in his mad goose chase, disheartened that he cared more about these girls than he did me.

"Nollie," my husband's voice was soft in my ear, awakening me from my unexpected nap. I groaned upon noticing I'd lost my place in my book and sat up, stretching.

"What time is it?" I mumbled.

"Ten thirty. I found Chiarina."

"How on earth did it take you an hour?" He shrugged. He'd sunk down into the mattress beside me, feet hanging off the edge to mirror mine.

"Actually, an hour is faster than I'm used to." His voice was slow, tired. "I'm going to bed." He leaned over to kiss me goodnight. To his surprise, I deepened the kiss, pulling him closer to me. He kissed me for a moment more before pulling away. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

I watched him sink into the bed, pulling the covers up so all I could see was his quiff poking out. I watched him until he fell asleep, his breathing slowing. I smiled at my sleeping, peaceful husband and slipped into bed beside him, shutting out the light and snuggling in next to him. My thoughts drifted from today's events to tomorrow's future. My last thought before dozing off was of the young Italian man's dark brown eyes tinted with fire as he shouted at me, and Tintin cursing at him in Italian.

I awoke to my husband's voice in my ear, whispering my name. I opened my eyes to complete and utter darkness—it was still the middle of the night. "What times is it?" I groaned, rubbing my eyes, "It has got to be at least two in the morning…"

"It's five."

"So why on earth are we up then?"

"I cannot tell you why." _Okay_. I swallowed, worried that this meant something was wrong. I sat up, watching him in the low light. He was striding across the room to his suitcase, pulling out a shirt and turning to me. "I picked out a dress for you. It's on your suitcase." I eyed him warily before crawling over to the edge of the bed to see which dress he'd chosen. It was a short, mint green dress with tiny black polka dots and a buttoned up collar. It was new—Tintin had bought it for me for Valentine's Day this year.

I smiled. Wherever he was taking me must be good, if he went as far as to pick out my clothes. "So you won't tell me where we're going?" He was behind the dressing screen now, and emerged after I'd spoken, buttoning the final button on his collar.

"Nope. It's a surprise! I can't very well be giving away the surprise, can I?"

I rolled my eyes and hopped off the bed. "It better not be something bad."

"And why would it be?" There was a glimmer in his eyes—it really was going to be a good surprise, whatever on earth it was.

After I'd slipped on my dress, Tintin grabbed my hand and led me outside: through the deserted streets, past the darkened restaurants and shops, to the canal.

"The canal? We've been here before," I looked at him, confused. He returned my gaze, that glimmer still in his eye, and he winked at me. He released my hand and put his index fingers in his mouth, blowing a loud whistle. A small Italian man appeared on the shore, waving at Tintin.

" _Buongiorno_!" Tintin called, waving back. _Buongiorno_ , I remembered from my short lesson, meant good morning.

"Who is he?" I questioned. I wasn't worried about this man—I was simply curious as to why we were meeting a man at five in the morning.

"You'll see. Come on, now." As we approached the Italian man, a sleek, black gondola slowly came into view, nestled out of sight beside the bridge. I gasped, and Tintin tangled his fingers in mine.

I could hardly muster any words as I stared at the boat, trying to take it all in. "Is this for _us_?" I finally squeaked, and my husband grinned.

"Yeah. I called Metello here last night when you were sleeping." I beamed at Metello. "Hurry up, or we'll miss the sunrise!" He ushered me into the gondola and Metello helped him in before easing himself in and shoving off.

We floated through water as blue as the daytime sky. Venice was beginning to stir as we pushed through the waves. The sky was beginning to take on shades of purple and pink as the sun began her entrance. Tintin squeezed my hand. He was smiling wide, staring at the horizon, waiting for the sun to make her first appearance.

I leaned towards him to whisper in his ear, "The sun is about to rise on our life together," I murmured, and his smile was directed at me now.

"That it is." I can't remember who kissed who first—but when we broke, the sun had finally risen, bright and shining.

We rode on the gondola through the entirety of Venice—and it was spectacular. The buildings were bathed in early morning sunlight, glowing. Everything was perfect.

After we departed the gondola, Tintin and I strolled the streets of Venice, hand in hand, before he stopped in front of a small flat. His sudden halt startled me, and I had to turn back for him. "What's this?" I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Chiarina Guarneri's flat," he stared at the building, and I sighed. _So much for a romantic morning. Now it's back to business as usual_. He lead me up to the doorstep and knocked, sharp and loud. He must not have remembered that it was only seven in the morning.

A small woman in a silk bathrobe opened the door, sized Tintin up, and shot me a criticizing look before opening her mouth to speak. " _Posso aiutarti_?" [May I help you?] She asked, her voice sharp.

" _Sì, noi siamo qui della signorina Chiarina Guarneri_ ," [Yes, we are here for Miss Chiarina Guarneri.] my husband replied. When the woman glared at him, he continued, " _Non c'è niente di male, signora, lei appena sa di qualcosa di cui abbiamo bisogno_." [There's nothing wrong, ma'am, she just knows of something we need.]

" _Lei è addormentato. Io avvisare lei_." [She is still sleeping. I will alert her.] She was gone, shutting the door behind her.

Tintin shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, "What a bizarre encounter."

"We have yet to have a good encounter with a Venice native," I chuckled, tucking myself under his arm, "They all seem incredibly peeved by us."

"She seemed to have a problem with my hair," he ran his hand through his red hair, "Perhaps it stands out too much."

"Oh, just a tad bit," I grinned.

It felt like an hour before the door opened once more. This time, standing beside the small woman was a girl about Tintin's age—Italian, with beautiful, dark skin and hair and piercing chocolate brown eyes that stared intently into my husband's gray eyes.

"Il mio nome è Chiarina," she announced, finally looking at me, "E chi diavolo sei?"

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 **The last thing Chiarina says is "and who the hell are you?" I figured I could add that down here because I feel like the whole annotated translations kind of ruins the look of the story, but what can I do xD They're kinda necessary. Anyway, review for chapter five, and I'll try to get it up as soon as possible! xx, DisneyPrincess55**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I've been so busy with school, reading tons and tons of books, and working on my full-length novel that I completely lost track of how long it had been since I posted chapter four! So I swore to myself after I finished chapter five of my novel (six thousand words long, mind you) that I would write up chapter five of this story. And here it is! I hope you guys enjoy it! :) ~DP55**

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Five

Chiarina

" _Il mio nome è Tintin. Questa è mia moglie, Nollie_ ," said Tintin, reaching a protective hand up to the small of my back. " _Pensiamo che si potrebbe sapere qualcosa riguardo a un omicidio_." [We think you might know something regarding a murder.]

Her eyes darkened. " _No. Chi è stato assassinato?_ " [Who was murdered?]

" _Due giovani ragazze, circa la sua età_." [Two young girls, about her age.] He flicked his hand towards me. "Do you speak English?"

For a heartbeat, I was convinced she would say no just by the way she stared at him as though he'd grown an arm on top of his head. "Yes. I do. Not well." Her words were thickly accented, clipped with her lack of fluency. "Two girls. I see lots of girls. What were names?"

Tintin eyed me before focusing back on Chiarina. "Lucille Ravenna and Moira Chatfield. Have you heard of them?" She nodded slowly, obviously thinking hard about the names he'd just spoken to her.

"Yes. Two girls. Pretty. I met them from England."

"On the train?"

"Yes. They murdered?"

"They _were_ murdered, yes. We need to find out who did it." I admired Tintin for his patience with Chiarina. I wouldn't have had the patience to try to communicate with her, and I was thankful I didn't know Italian very well. It would be extremely unnecessary for me to have to speak in another language. Not while my husband was around. _Husband_. The title suited Tintin. Every time I referred to him as this, something—excitement, maybe?—fluttered in my stomach. I had a husband now. Me, the orphan girl with no possible future, had a husband. And a handsome one, at that. A husband whom everyone knew—not that it mattered. All that mattered was he loved me, and he was perfect, and he was mine. All mine. I removed his hand from my back and laced his fingers with mine. I could feel his wedding band, a cold piece of metal pressed up against my fingers. I tried to connect with his gaze once more.

But he wasn't focused on me. He was focused on Chiarina, the stunningly beautiful Italian girl. I kicked myself for envying the way he was staring at her now. She was a tool in his project, I reminded myself. Not his wife. _I'm_ his wife. Not her. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. _Mine_.

"I don't know about Lucille and Moira. They talk about boys. Italian boys. About their cute…" She trailed off, flushing.

He takes a small step closer to her. "Did you catch any of their names? The boys they talked about?"

"I could not understand them well. They…they whisper."

"But it was a long train ride. Surely you could've gotten _something_ out of it." I pulled Tintin back from stepping forward again.

"Tintin," I murmured, "She doesn't speak the language." He looked at me, exhaling a tiny breath, forming his lips into a tight line before turning back to study Chiarina. Something inside of me clicks in that very instant, and I open my mouth to speak without even reviewing my words. "What if they didn't know the murderer when they arrived?" I blurted. Chiarina stared at me, beautiful dark eyes wide. Tintin's gaze was curious, and I watched as his mind registered my idea. I watched as his features turned from confusion to _eureka!_ and he squeezed my hand.

"Chiarina, did you see the girls after you departed the train?" His voice was a little desperate as he asked her this. He was using his I-want-to-know-everything-now voice, which was always incredibly desperate.

She shook her head. "No. They went to red hotel and then died." I stifled a laugh at her choppy sentence, trying to desperately hide my growing smile. She eyed me, "I am sorry for my English, and I am sorry about girls."

"That's all right, Miss Guarneri. Thank you for your time." Tintin led me by my hand down the porch steps and onto the sidewalk again. I sporadically watched as Chiarina nodded once at us before disappearing inside of her flat once more.

Once we were out of earshot, my husband leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "You are brilliant. I love you." His hand was still tangled in mine, and I gave it a squeeze.

"I love you, too." He didn't respond, so I did for him. "So what does this mean? Chiarina is no good anymore? Dead end?"

"We are not dead-ended, because you are brilliant," his gray eyes were like fireworks against a cloudy sky. "We need to find the hotel that the girls were staying in, and check the records to see if any boys were staying in the rooms next-door. Once we have that, we can narrow down our suspects." He pulled me closer to him, dropped my hand, and wrapped his arm around my waist. I looked at him, watching the way he carried himself.

He was walking proudly, his eyes sparking confidence. I wondered if it was because he had me, his new wife, nestled in his arms. Or, perhaps it was because he was Tintin, and he was an incredibly cunning man who was on the red-hot trail of a murderer.

"Red hotel," I echoed, and he glanced at me.

"Hmm?"

"Chiarina. She said the girls stayed at a red hotel." I watched as his brain worked through this, and he nodded.

"There's a hotel called Red. We'll be passing it here in a few minutes."

Sure as he was standing, we did come across a red-bricked hotel with the words THE RED HOTEL painted in large, black letters on a white wooden plaque. He guided me in, arm still wrapped around my waist, and requested we meet with the manager from an Italian boy no younger than twenty who was working the check-in desk.

The manager, a bumbling, stout Italian man, walked in and beamed at us. He gestured a porky hand in the direction of his office—a tiny room with dark red walls. Tintin and I stood together in front of his desk, and my husband requested in fluent Italian that we see the records of Moira and Lucille's hotel stay.

He handed them over easy, and we reached a shocking conclusion:

Moira and Lucille had only stayed at The Red Hotel for a day and a half, before disappearing off the face of the earth entirely.

And the worst part was?

They were the only ones on their floor for that day and a half.

* * *

 **OOOH! I wonder what's gonna happen? ;) Anyway, review for chapter six, and I'll see you all then! :) ~DisneyPrincess55**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys! Guess who's back after a way-too-long hiatus? Well, with the end of this hiatus brings some GREAT NEWS! I finally finished my novel last Wednesday (shoutout to _The Selection_ series for giving me some major inspiration) and I'm going to be getting into the process of editing pretty soon. If anyone is interested in the synopsis, I'd love to tell you! PM me or I could post a brief one on Tintin and Nollie's blog :) Anyway, I hope you all are having a fantastic summer, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :) ~DP55**

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Six

Eureka

How was it possible for two girls to be the only ones on a hotel floor for an entire day and a half in such a busy city as Venice?

Tourists come from all over.

It couldn't be possible that they were the only ones.

"Are you positive that the two girls were the only ones on the floor for their entire stay?" I took the record from Tintin and looked it over closely to ensure there were no eraser marks from someone attempting to alter it.

He shook his head.

I used this as an invitation to look even closer, to come up with a reason why he wouldn't think someone could've altered the record. "When was the last time you took a vacation, sir?"

He wrinkled his brow and murmured, "I just got back from my mother's in Caravaggio last night."

Tintin read my expression like a book. Another look of _eureka!_ registered on his face at this. "Do you know who was working on the night the girls were here?"

The man pondered this for a heartbeat before sticking his index finger in the air and nodding. "Yes. Frank. I go get him." He disappeared into the back again and returned with a man no older than Tintin, who looked incredibly confused. "Frank, these two want to know about girls."

Frank's face drained of color as he shot us a completely horrified stare. " _Uh…_ "

Tintin spoke up before Frank's face had even the slightest chance to change back into a humanly color. "We want to know about the girls who were staying here just a few nights ago. Their names were Moira and Lucille. Can you confirm that these two girls were alone on the third floor of your hotel that night?"

Frank plucked the record from my hands and looked it over. "No…No sir, I cannot confirm that. I checked in a couple of guys into the room next-door…" He flipped past that day's record and points to the one behind it. "Them. Aroldo and Cesare Marlborough. Brothers. Checked out yesterday morning in quite a hurry…"

"Do you know where they went?" Tintin demanded.

"No, of course not. It is not my place to pry into their personal whereabouts. All I know is that they were most certainly Venetian natives…Why on earth do you want to know this? Who are you?"

"Just looking into the murders of those girls, sir," I told him with a shrug.

"Thank you for your time. We must be off now. Breakfast reservations," Tintin lied, pushing me out the door.

"Why are we leaving?" I demanded when we reached the street.

"Because we have primary suspects, and we know their names."

"The Marlborough brothers?"

"Yes. Native boys in foreign countries have a tendency to prey on pretty tourist girls." He eyed me warily before reaching down to tangle his fingers in mine. "Especially ones who are traveling alone…Without an adult male, I should say."

"But how will we know where the boys are?"

"Records. Always the records. If they're natives, then they'll have job records, and…" We passed a large group of loud Italian men as we walked down the sidewalk, narrowly dodging them to avoid getting shoved into the street. Tintin dropped my hand and quickly wrapped his arm around my waist to avoid losing me in the crowd.

"Who were they?" I turned, watching the men leave, trying to pinpoint if any of them could be our suspects.

"Just natives…" Tintin said. I heard his breath catch in his throat as he finished speaking and he stopped in his tracks. "Oh!" He whipped around and hurried after the crowd of Italians, calling for them. "Excuse me!" He shouted, "Excuse me, I wonder if any of you could help me?"

A man turned around almost immediately, followed shortly by a man who looked nearly identical to him, save for the fact that he was an inch shorter. "I can help you," said the taller man, "What do you need help with?"

Tintin met my gaze before looking back at the two men. "My wife and I are on our way to meet some friends at a gelato shop…it's, uh, the one nearest to here. Do you have any idea where it could be…?"

The shorter man raised his eyebrow and folded his arms. "There are three gelato shops in five blocks. Not helpful."

"We need the one nearest to where we are right now," I told him, looking around as though I was truly just a lost tourist. "My friends, they travelled all the way from Spain to see us. Their names are Sofía and Mariana. It'll be their first time trying gelato, just like us. We're going to try it together." I offered him a smile, but he shot me a glare.

"I think you are wasting our time."

"No no no!" Tintin looked petrified. "Not wasting your time. We lost the name of the gelato shop. We just know it's near here. Our hotel is down that way—" he pointed down the street, towards the Red Hotel. "Red Hotel. Do you know that one?"

The taller man looked at his brother and pursed his lips. "We stayed there a few days ago, yes."

A horrible feeling rushed through me like poison in my veins.

"But you…you are natives to the city, aren't you?" Tintin's expression was laced with confusion. "Why would you need to stay in a hotel?"

The shorter man shrugged. "A few of our friends came in and we wanted to stay with them. It is nice hotel. Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much." Tintin gave me a knowing look and bumped the back of his hand against mine. He knew, even before he asked their names, he knew these were the guys. "But never mind that. The gelato shop. Can you point us in the right direction?"

The taller man nodded and turned his feet westward before pointing at a quaint red building with a sign printed in Italian. "There." He shrugged. "Get address from your friend next time."

"Thank you, gentlemen, you've been too kind. Might I ask your names?"

"I am Aroldo, and this is my brother, Cesare." Aroldo nodded to Tintin, "Pleasure to meet you."

Tintin beamed, but I could see right through his smile. I knew the exact thought that was going through his mind: _this was almost too easy._

* * *

 **Ooh, mysterious Italian brothers. I want one! Sign me up! ...Kidding! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Remember to favorite me & my stories and leave a review (and if you want to hear about my novel, I love to talk about it, so PM ME!) Also... if you haven't read _The Selection_ series by Kiera Cass, you are SERIOUSLY missing out! All right, I'll see you guys next time (and I promise it won't be as long as last time!) **

**XX, DisneyPrincess55**


	7. Chapter 7

**HI GUYS! :) Guess who's back? I am :D I have fully broken up with my too-freaking-long hiatus for this story, from now on I'll whip out the chapters as fast as I can! It's easier now that my novel is done. I spent aaaaall day today working diligently on this chapter, and I really hope you enjoy it :) See you at the bottom! ~DP55**

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Seven

Dessert for Breakfast

I'd never eaten gelato before we sat down in the adorable little shop the Marlborough brothers pointed us to—and I was pleasantly surprised by it. "This is _amazing_ ," I mumbled between licks of the mouthwatering strawberry-flavored dessert. The shop was charming: it had a little courtyard in the front with several little tables for sitting with your dessert, and it was all outlined by a short metal fence, small green shrubs sitting in the corners. I was in love with Venice—there was an air to everything that made it all seem so magical, even if we were chasing after a couple of sibling murderers.

Tintin was holding his bowl of strawberry gelato, the top layer of the dessert softened and dripping in the warm air. He was consumed by his thoughts: eyes unfocused on the green metal table and chairs we were sitting on outside. His mouth opened and closed several times, and every once in awhile he would mumble something muddled that I couldn't understand.

"Tintin," I said softly, hoping to break him out of his thoughts. When he didn't budge, I tried again. " _Tintin._ "

He jumped at the sound of my voice, giving me a wild look, as though I'd completely surprised him. In a way, I had. "Oh, sweetheart, forgive me." He shook his head, setting his bowl on the table. "I seem to have…" He furrowed his brow, trying to come up with the right word to say. "I seem to have…"

"Gotten distracted?" I chuckled as I finished his thought for him. "I understand. What have you concluded?" I ran my finger through my bowl, scooping up the melted remains of my gelato, and popped my finger into my mouth.

"I'm just trying to figure out why those gentlemen were preying on those poor girls." He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "I'm completely stumped. Every idea I have just…doesn't make any sense."

"Well, what's your first idea?" I leaned towards him, resting my elbows on the ornate table and crossing my ankles beneath my chair. As bothered as I was by these two men ruining my perfect Italian honeymoon, I at least wanted to get to the bottom of those poor girls' murder.

"It's not a pretty one…I think the men met those girls upon their arrival into the city, the girls were very taken by their appearances, and flirted with them. And then…" He hardened his gaze on me, and I caught the worry in his eyes. "The men kidnapped them for their own use. I feel as though they were going to be sold into prostitution… I can't figure out why they were killed on the street, though. And it wasn't just an easy kill—they were shot several times.

Then there's the idea that the girls may have stolen something of importance from the men, and the brothers retaliated in a brutal way by taking their lives. This one seems a little far-fetched, don't you think? I mean, I'd rather go to the police to report a crime than kill the people who stole from me." He bit his lip and stared at his gelato. "Oh. I seem to have let my dessert melt into a puddle of goo." He buried his spoon into the bowl, letting it sink beneath the sugary liquid. He then proceeded to drink his gelato, rather than actually eat it. My husband was quite the clown.

He sat back the moment his bowl was empty and stared at me, his gaze unwavering. I flushed at the intensity of his stare. "What is it?" I asked meekly.

"I can stop investigating the murder," he said, leaning forward, "If you think that this is taking away from our honeymoon, I can stop worrying about it." An endearing half-smile tugged at his lips, "Honestly, I would love to solely focus on you for the remainder of the vacation."

His words made me flush harder, and I felt my skin prickle with glee as I grinned at him.

But as quickly as the joyous feeling had come over me, it was gone, replaced by the knowledge that the mystery needed to be solved.

"No," I sighed, "You can't do that."

"I can't?" His voice was an echo, a sliver of pain laced in.

"No. Because if you give up now, then nobody will care about what actually happened to those girls, because they will be buried and gone and nobody will know their story. And besides, even if you gave up now, their mystery would still haunt and consume you for the rest of the trip." I swallowed back the sad sigh that threatened to escape from my throat. "May as well keep investigating."

There was no hiding the excitement in his eyes as he nodded at my words. "All right. But promise me that if you feel as though I'm ignoring you, you will tell me, and I will call this entire investigation off and forget about it." His voice was intense, and my heart beat faster at the thought of him calling everything off just because I felt ignored.

"I love you," I said with a smile.

"I love you, too."

I purchased another bowl of gelato—this time raspberry—and scooted my chair closer to Tintin so I could lean on him while I ate my dessert. He was lost in thought again, and one look at him showed all of the little gears in his head were turning at a massively fast pace. "Do you want to discuss?" I finally heard myself say. He had been biting his lip so hard I was expecting blood.

His eyes focused back on me and he held my expectant gaze for awhile before nodding. "I believe I would."

"All right, shoot."

"I was thinking about the stealing idea. I don't think it's correct. The girls were in tattered clothes, remember? Like they hadn't been able to change in days. Criminals wouldn't…although it could've been a costume to make them seem like poor girls…" He cupped his face with his hands and leaned forward on the table, considering his next sentence. "What if that's what it was? What if they were tourist girls who, I dunno, lost all of their money in a gamble and tried to siphon money from the natives in order to get back home?"

"Then why would their clothes be so worn and dirty? Wouldn't they have a suitcase?"

"Yeah…" He leaned back, hesitated, and was opening his mouth to say something when a group of gentlemen passed by the courtyard fence. It took me a moment to realize they were the same ones we'd seen earlier, and I stood abruptly to call out to them.

"Aroldo!" I called, and one of them stopped in his tracks, whipping around to face me. His face lit up when he recognized me, and he quickly shouted something in Italian to his friends.

"Hello, Signorina Nollie," he said as he approached us, "How is the gelato?"

"Wonderful, thank you," I smiled. Tintin was by my side now, his posture stiff.

"It's _Signora_ Nollie," he grunted, "She's married."

"Oh," Aroldo looked uncomfortable at this. "Forgive me, Signora." Quick as a flash, he straightened and changed the subject. "How are your friends?"

 _Our friends._ My mouth went dry at the memory of Tintin's lie to get the brothers to speak to us, but he was quick to answer when I wasn't. "They seem to have gotten lost themselves," he chuckled. "I doubt we'll see them today." He shrugged.

"Would you like to join us?" I piped up, gesturing to our table. "We can pull up a chair for you."

Tintin stared daggers into the side of my head, but I ignored him. I knew he wanted to think, but with Aroldo here, we could ask him questions.

"I would love to," a smile flickered at the corners of his lips. "It's rare occasion for me to eat gelato."

My husband laughed at me for purchasing another bowl of gelato, but I didn't want Aroldo to feel awkward as he ate his gelato while being drilled by a couple of honeymooning tourists. So I scooped the chocolate treat into my mouth as Tintin began to ask the man about his profession.

"I run a business," he said. "We get a lot of tourists, so I can speak English pretty well. Along with a few other languages." He shrugged.

"What do you sell?" Tintin rested his hand on my knee and leaned closer to Aroldo. "In your business, I should say?"

Aroldo took too long to answer. Way too long. Tintin squeezed my knee right as the man spoke. "I uh, I sell convenience items. Tourists, you know, they forget so many things so often, _è pazzesco!_ " I shot Tintin a look of confusion. Did Aroldo just switch into Italian mode?

"Is it crazy?" Tintin laughed uncomfortable. I knew immediately he was on to something.

"Yes, very crazy. What do you do, Signor Tintin?"

"I'm a journalist," Tintin shrugged. "You may've heard of me. I've done a few stories in some provinces of Italy, before I met my wife. I always stayed in rather nice hotels, which has been pleasing. The one we are staying at is quite lovely—the Red Hotel. Your brother said you'd stayed in it recently?"

He nodded and took a bite of his gelato. "Yes. A few of our friends came from Rome, and they wanted us to stay nearby."

"Say, there were a couple of young women who stayed on your same floor. Did you ever meet them?"

Aroldo stiffened immediately at Tintin's question, his gaze hardening and his spoon clattering back inside of his bowl. "How did you know about those girls?" His tone was as dark as the stare he gave us a heartbeat later, and chills ran up my spine.

"We uh, we met them." Tintin tugged at his collar, "They were very pretty, I'd be surprised if you didn't catch them." I stared at my husband warily from the corner of my eye. He'd only seen the girls _dead_. If he thought those dead girls were pretty…

"Oh, I saw them. Very pretty, yes. Unfortunately, they died a few days ago."

Tintin sat back in his chair dramatically, running a hand through his red hair in mock shock. " _Dead?_ " He whispered mystically, "My God! How on earth did they die?"

"Honestly, why do you care? They're just a couple of damn annoying tourists like the lot of you." His voice came out a snarl, and I reached for Tintin's hand that was still resting on my knee. "Good riddance to them. They were pesky, annoying girls. Damn brats. And if you think I had anything to do with their deaths, then…" Aroldo stood, throwing his gelato bowl onto the table, " _Dovrò mettere via!_ " With that, he stormed off, and I turned to Tintin, petrified in fear.

"What on earth…" My voice came out a squeak, "What did he say?"

"He'll have us put away. That's what he said." He leaned forward, ran his hand across his mouth, and nodded. "Nollie, his actions just now… that was his confession."

* * *

 **Oooh dang Aroldo! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! If you did, leave a review! :) And if you want to hear about my novel, I LOVE to talk about it, so shoot me a PM and I'll tell you all about it! :) See you next time!**

 **~DisneyPrincess55**


	8. Chapter 8

**HI GUYS! Guess who's back? :) I think you guys are really going to like this chapter, because I really loved writing it :) SEE YOU AT THE BOTTOM :) ~DP55**

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Eight

American Tourist

Tintin ran his fingers through my hair and tickled my cheek with the ends as he lay next to me in our hotel bed. He seemed incredibly distracted, which in turn was disheartening for me. "Tintin," I pressed my face towards his, trying to initiate a kiss, "It's our _honeymoon_. Snap out of it."

We'd spent the remainder of the morning wandering around Venice before he finally took me to the Basilica…but his head remained in the clouds, pondering the girls' murder to annoying speculations. On the cab ride to the Basilica, he kept running ideas by me. "What if his convenience shop is a secret prostitution house?" His voice was an echo as he said this, as though he wasn't really there. This entire ordeal was consuming every piece of him, and it was affecting our night, too—if you know what I mean.

He swallowed and focused on my face… _finally._ "Sorry, sweetheart. I just…"

"Stop thinking about it," my voice was playful, but my mind was screaming for me to kill him if he didn't get his fingers out of my hair and wipe that stupid look off of his face. At the moment, I hated my husband. I wanted to be _kissed_ , not talked to. I wanted to be touched, not have my hair played with. He was silent as he stared at me, fully focused on my face, not drifting off into the clouds. I leaned in to kiss him deeply, but he pulled away within a heartbeat and started to think aloud again. I grumbled in discouragement and glared at him.

 _Okay, I'm going to kill him._

"I honestly think he owns a brothel," he said, leaning back on his pillow. "He knows English so well, and—" I cut him off by locking my lips with his and not allowing for him to break it off to continue his sentence.

"I honestly think you should shut up and kiss me," I mumbled in between kisses, "You're talking too much."

He pulled me away from him so my face was an inch from his, and looked deep into my eyes. "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well it's just…when you were kissing me, I realized how awful of a husband I'm being right now."

 _Aaaaand the moment is gone._

"You're not," I protested, but it was too late. He shut his eyes and threw his head backwards. "God, I cannot believe myself," he said, shaking his head, "My head has been so overcome with every thought imaginable as to what could've happened to those poor girls, and I've completely shut you out. On our honeymoon!" He ran a hand down his face, "Okay. From now on, I'm going to forget about the girls. At least…" He moved closer to me, "At nighttime." Okay, so not _exactly_ the bargain I was after, but right now, I didn't care. Because now my husband was kissing me deeply, and that was what I'd been wanting so badly for the past day that everything else just melted away.

I awoke to the sound of Tintin's shuffling feet as he paced back and forth on the floor… _again_. When I peeked over the duvet, I caught sight of him: fully dressed, hair rumpled, one sock straight, the other smushed up around his ankle. He looked as though he'd rolled out of bed just a few minutes ago—but I highly doubted that was the case. "How long have you been up?" I asked, planting my feet on the ground and pulling the duvet around my bare shoulders. He was silent—as I expected from him—and I rolled my eyes and made for the washroom.

Tintin was on the other side of the door when I opened it, staring right at me. His presence made me jump. "You scared me," I gasped, clutching my heart.

"I have an idea," he said, narrowing his eyes to peer at me. He took me in slowly, and I flushed. "I think…" He bit his lip and broke his gaze from me, running his hand across his mouth. "God, it's a terrible idea."

"What is?"

"Well, I was thinking of posing you as a tourist girl…"

I cut him off with an uncomfortable laugh. "I already am, though?"

He shook his head. "No, I would need to make you look different. Unrecognizable." I raised an eyebrow at him—why did he need to change my appearance? "Since the brothers already know you, they wouldn't believe it if it was just you. So… I want to pose you as a tourist girl from…" He studies my face, "America. It's an easy accent—" he drops his own and mimics an American: "You just gotta talk like you don't mean a word you say, and then dump a bunch of tea in the harbor." I burst out laughing at his impression, but he returns to being completely stoic a moment later. "We could do your hair in a different way, or maybe just make you wear a hat…and change up your makeup and clothing. And…"

"Wait," I cut him off, shaking my head in confusion, "What is this for?"

"You're going undercover."

My jaw dropped open. "But—"

"Nollie, hear me out. This is the only way to fully get a grasp of who the Marlborough brothers are. If we have you pose as some lonely American tourist girl, they'll prey on you…" He shifts uncomfortably, "And then you can expose them for running a brothel, and killing those girls."

"But it's our _honeymoon_ ," I protested, "I don't want to be doing undercover work on my honeymoon!"

He took a step toward me and wrapped his hands around my shoulders. "Sweetheart, it'll only be for a couple of days. Two at the most."

"What if they hurt me?"

"Do you honestly think I would let that happen?" His voice told me he wouldn't.

"But…"

"Nollie, please."

I squeezed my eyes shut and considered this. Two days, a costume and a makeover later, I can expose the brothers and _then_ I'll have my perfect honeymoon with my perfect husband, who, y'know, wants me to pose as a prostitute for two days. But if it all means I can have him for the rest of our honeymoon—not to mention the rest of our lives, I'll take it.

"All right. What's the whole plan?"

"…We'll get you a room in the Red Hotel after you walk around the streets a little bit," he explained, "I'll have a room just a few doors down, don't worry. We can even devise a system of communication! And then the brothers will…"

"What if they invite me to their brothel while I'm just walking the streets? And what if they recognize me?" Even though I'd agreed to it, this whole plan made my stomach twist itself into a thousand knots. I felt sick and excited at the same time.

"I'll make sure they don't recognize you. You brought some of your wedding makeup, right? We'll use that, and do your hair in a different style—" he looked at my hair, his brow furrowing. "Maybe we should cut it."

" _What?_ NO," My voice came out louder than I'd anticipated, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. "Sorry, but you are _not_ cutting my hair. I won't allow for it."

"That's okay, we can make it look like it's shorter. American girls have really short hair, Noll, like Audrey's." He hesitated, scrunching up his face, "I have no idea how to make it look like that, but I'm sure you might have an idea or two." I tugged at my golden-brown hair, still damp from my bath, completely dumfounded, as he continued. "You'll be the one to see the brothel. I wouldn't be able to come inside, they would automatically assume I'm a newlywed adulterer." He rolled his eyes.

"Tintin. If I'm in a brothel, then…" I left out the part I wanted to say: men could _buy_ me. Strange Italian men could buy me and use me.

But he already knew that. "I know. I'm still figuring out that part."

"You're still figuring out the scariest part and yet you're ready to just jump head-first into this?"

He swallowed. "I have a general idea, I promise you, but I am not sure if I can set it fully in motion quite yet."

I had no idea how to reply to this statement, so I simply nodded my head. "All right, then."

"So let's get started." He began to study my face as though it was a canvas; a feat that made me rather uncomfortable. I wasn't used to being looked at like this, as though I was an object rather than a person. "Your wedding makeup. Where is it?"

"In my suitcase, of course." Isabelle had insisted that I buy makeup for the wedding—I was so keen on going natural, but she wouldn't allow it. _'You need to look like an angel,'_ she'd insisted while we were at a store who's _only_ purpose was selling makeup. She then proceeded to purchase a compact with foundation (I asked if it was the same foundation they used beneath buildings. She didn't think I was funny), a pencil eyeliner (I refused to wear it for the wedding, but brought it along in my luggage), mascara, rouge and eyeshadow. When I showed them to Tintin, he stared at them, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, I don't know what to do with those, either," he chuckled.

"And you think I do?" I laughed and sat on his knee, staring into the little fabric bag Isabelle had purchased along with the plethora of makeup, "I may be a girl, but I'm not that kind of girl."

A smile glowed in Tintin's eyes as he tugged me closer to him, his lips descending upon my neck. "I know you're not," he murmured, voice feathering against my skin. "That's what I like about you."

"Is that _all_ you like about me?" I pull away from him and wiggle a teasing brow at him.

"Heavens no," his eyes hovered on my lips before meeting mine again. "There are so many things I love about you."

"Oh, really?" I gave him a teasing peck on the lips, "Name a couple."

He looked at me, opened his lips as though he was about to speak—and then pulled me into his arms and dipped me towards the floor. The sudden motion sucked all of the air from my lungs, and he held my face close to his and whispered: "How about I don't use words?" …And then he kissed me deeply, and I wished that we never had to come up for air.

* * *

 **Ah, writing cute kiss scenes is so much easier when you have a cute boyfriend who would totally do that sorta thing. Hehe. (Except for the fact that I haven't seen him in a year because he moved across the country) ANYWAY please review :) And if you want to hear about my novel please ask :)**

 **~DisneyPrincess55**


	9. Chapter 9

**HI GUYS! :) Here's chapter nine. I absolutely love it :) See you at the bottom! :) ~DP55**

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Nine

Cate

I stared at myself in the mirror and absolutely despised the girl who stared back.

She wasn't me.

Sure, she looked like me, in a haunting sort of way…not in a familiar, 'oh, that's my face,' sort of way. She had my nose, my eyes, my chin, my mouth; but her hair was bobbed, not braided down the back. She wore heavy makeup in a shade two tones lighter than my own, her eyes were dramatically shadowed in blue and silver to match the dress that fell just above her knees—far too scandalously high, in my opinion. Her lipstick was bright-red, a color I loathed, and she held her head high enough for a plane to fly around it.

Her name was Catherine Hilton—a name that had prevailed against the others we'd scribbled down on a sheet of paper. Eleanor? Louisa? Catherine? Annie? Angie? Yes, we'd even gone so far as to consider my own mother's name, just shortened to a more American pet name. But Catherine Hilton, daughter of rich American doctor Calvin Hilton won, and her story was unraveled piece by piece as Tintin and I figured out how to fake my hair into a bob—by braiding the lowest layers of hair and pinning them beneath the canopy that was the top layer—and I fiddled with my makeup until I reached the look I was now detesting.

 _Catherine Hilton, 20. Daughter of doctor—Calvin? Yes, Calvin works. Rich man. She is an only child. Very spoiled. Calls herself Cate. Will do anything for attention. Wants to travel the world, meets a boy who secretly owns a brothel, falls into trap, rich daddy gets worried…_ Tintin laughed at his own notes, "It's like a film in itself," he shook his head, "And a silly one, at that. No, we'll just leave it at she wants to travel the world, and met a good-looking Italian boy who owns a brothel. What a tramp." I raised an eyebrow at him, and he made a face that showed he instantly regretted saying that. Especially about his _wife_. "My God, you look beautiful," he said, rising and striding to my side. His fingers wrapped around my hip, and he brought his face incredibly close to mine. "I love that perfume you picked out," he said, inhaling. "And your hair, _wow_."

I glared at him. When he noticed, he gave me a sheepish, confused grin and pulled himself away. "You aren't supposed to like how I look," I said with a sigh, propping myself up against the vanity I was still staring into and giving him an annoyed look, "You not supposed to be falling in love with other women."

"But _you_ are not another woman," he offered, wrapping his arm around me again. "Sure, you may look different, but you're still my wife."

Nope. It's Catherine time. "I am not your wife, and I do not know what or _who_ you are talking about." I said in my best American accent, pulling myself away from his grasp and straightening my dress. Then I tilted my chin upwards at him and glared at him through slitted eyes and long, black lashes.

His chin was tucked towards the ground, so he was almost looking up at me—yet his gray eyes were full of a sort of amazement. "You still look stunning," he said, reaching for my hand and kissing my knuckles, "But your accent could use a little work."

"But we don't have time for that!" I twisted my shortened lock of hair into a loose curl and looked at him demurely. "This is America, we don't have a moment to waste!"

"This is not America, this is Italy, you silly girl." He said, rolling his eyes. Now he was mirroring my accent, except he did it better. "In Italy, the pace is a lot slower. I know, it's funny, not having President Hoover around, but it's still pretty nice here."

"Well, America is better," I shrugged.

"That's the truth." He paused, looking down at his shoes, before glancing back up at me. "Say, Catherine—"

" _Cate_ ," I corrected, raising my chin even higher.

"Say, Cate, why don't we go out for a walk? You'll love it here, I promise."

I smiled and nodded eagerly, giving myself a once-over in the mirror before I followed his lead.

But as I did this, I stopped, yanked my hand away from his, and squeezed my eyes shut. Suddenly, everything felt _real_.

"Nollie? What's wrong?" His voice was urgent, worried.

"This isn't right. This doesn't _feel_ right, Tintin. I can't…I can't just walk into a brothel and ask for a job. I'm married!" I extended my left hand towards him, showing off the ring he put on my finger just a week ago. "I can't do this."

"Sure you can—" He cut himself off when I let out a choking sob. "Oh, Noll," his voice was breathless as he tugged me into his arms, "Oh, sweetheart, it's all right…"

"What if they kill me?"

"They won't, I promise."

"But what if, when we expose them, they try to hurt me?" I let my words linger before continuing, "What if some man buys me and uses…" I crumpled my hand over my face and swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt from my throat.

"I'm going to ensure that won't happen," he said, his voice soothing as he pulled me to his chest by my elbows, "I promise, I have that sorted out. I have all of this sorted out. Everything is going to be fine." He rested his chin on the top of my head, "And if you want, I won't call Catherine beautiful. Because it's not her that's beautiful, it's you. You are what makes Catherine beautiful. You are beautiful, no matter what you look like." He pulled back, tipping my chin up so he could look into my eyes, "You might look like a different girl, but I can see past the getup, and I see you as my wife. I promise I'm the only one who knows it's you, though." He winked.

I hugged him tighter, "I don't want to leave you."

"It won't be for too long, sweetheart, I promise." Then he broke our hug, walking to the door and opening it. "Come along now, darling, it's time for your debut."

Aroldo and Cesare Marlborough—as well as two other men I had yet to know the names of—stood before me in a tiny room that felt as though it was slowly stealing the air from my lungs. "What did you say your name was, sweetheart?" The name I had accustomed to being used solely by my husband on this stranger's tongue made me nauseous.

"Catherine Hilton." The edges of my words were tinged with my accent, and I tried to muffle it as best as I could. "I prefer Cate, however. Much easier on the tongue."

"And where did you say you were from?" The stranger, a thin man with a whisp of blond hair and prominent cheekbones, drilled.

"I'm from New York," I said, offering him a smile, "The Golden State."

The other man's brow furrowed. "Isn't…I beg your pardon, miss, but isn't the Golden State…isn't it California?"

My cheeks flushed instantly. "Forgive me. The Big Apple, New York. I lived in California for a spell."

"So you're a city girl, then? Used to a bustling atmosphere? Because we don't offer that in Venice," Aroldo quickly changed the subject.

"Oh, I'm aware. I quite like it, actually. It's so serene here." _Perfect for a honeymoon with my husband—except two of you killed two girls and now I'm here._

"And you're after a job?" The blond man was getting on my nerves.

"I'm sorry, but I did not sign up for an interrogation by strangers. Who _are_ you?" I snapped.

"My name is Leonard, Miss Hilton, and please watch your tone." Leonard then stepped back and began speaking in hushed Italian to Cesare, who nodded.

Cesare muttered something in reply before flicking his chin at his brother. Aroldo stepped towards me and pulled me from the rough wooden chair I'd been seated in. "Cesare does not like your clothes. Will not do for this sort of work, too fancy. The girls will get you some new ones."

"Girls? What girls? And what is wrong with my dress? I _like_ it," I protested as he pushed me through the door and into a large, dimly lit room that resembled a hotel. There were a few girls in low-cut dresses scattered about the room, sitting in plush red armchairs and chatting amongst themselves. They all looked up when Aroldo shut the door behind me. One of them, a pretty blonde about my age, stood and approached Aroldo and I, telling him something in Italian before dismissing him.

She took my arm and pulled me towards the center of the room, talking quietly to me. "Good God, where are _you_ from?" She rolled her eyes at me—but her tone was concerned, and her accent sounded British. _What kind of act did these girls have to put on just to be paid?_ "You look too rich and pretty to have ended up here. Go home, pretty thing."

"I don't have a home," I said as she deposited me in the middle of all of the other girls.

She laughed at me. "Sure you do. Your clothes and shoes are far too fancy for a pretty American girl lacking a nice mansion and a rich father." She pushed her face close to mine and examined me. "Even your _makeup_ is expensive. Damn, is someone trying to piss her family off or what?"

"I'm not doing anything of that sort." I straightened. "I am simply here for a job. And who might you be?"

"My name is Elizabeth, but that's beside the point. This isn't simply a job, city girl."

I try to play it as though I have no idea what she's talking about, nor what I'm getting myself into. "What on earth do you mean? I was told I was becoming a dishwasher at the pub that those gentlemen own."

Elizabeth sighed and pushed her hair back. "Honey. _Honey_. In a few minutes, you're going to be whisked back into that room and delivered a contract, in which you will agree to work here for the next few years as a _prostitute_."

I faked a look of horror and gaped at her. "A… a prostitute? Oh no…" I stepped backwards, holding my elbows close to my chest, "This is a _brothel_?"

Another girl stood up, this one with dark skin and hair. "Did you actually think this was just a normal pub? Honestly, they keep getting the stupid ones," she scoffed as she strode over to stand next to Elizabeth. "Like those two Brits from last week." She had a thick Italian accent and seemed to hold herself higher than the rest of the girls.

"Say, what's your name?" A girl with red curls and eyes the color of the sky piped up.

"My name is Catherine," I said, hesitating a moment after I said this to make sure I said the right name, "But I prefer to go by Cate." I knitted my fingers together and gave the group a small smile. "What's your name?"

"I'm Vivian, and that's Josephine," she said, pointing to the Italian girl. She then stood and moved towards me—not in an intimidating way like Josephine had, rather, a comforting way. "Cate, are you really sure you want to go through with this?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"She doesn't have a choice," Elizabeth sighed, "You know what happened to Lucille and Moira."

"What? What happened?" I whipped around to face Elizabeth, who was now flanked by another girl in a dress so tight her large chest was hardly contained.

"We told them the same story we're telling you right now," the new girl said, batting her eyelashes at me, "And they ran out on their contract. And then…" She shrugged, as though it was positively nothing: "Aroldo shot them both in the back as they ran down the road."

And just like that, I had my proof—but I was also trapped.

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 **I hope you loved that chapter just as much as I loved writing it and seeing where everything went :) I'm really liking this story! As always, please leave a review/favorite this story & me! Love you guys! ~DisneyPrincess55**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi guys :) I hope you had a fantastic summer, and I hope more than anything that you'll enjoy this chapter!:) ~DP55**

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Ten

Trapped

Ten minutes later, I was back in the tiny room, a typed-up document and a blue ink pen on the table before me. "And if I don't sign?" I asked Aroldo sheepishly, even though I already knew the answer.

"There is no _don't sign_ ," he said coolly, "You either sign or you meet your maker."

I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. This time, I wasn't faking the fear. It was either sign this paper and pray that Tintin could figure a way to get me out of here, or I stayed in this place, selling myself to men for the next four years of my life. I opened my eyes, inhaled deeply, and signed Catherine's name at the bottom of the paper.

Here goes nothing.

"One more thing, Miss Catherine. Are you a virgin?"

I wanted so badly to blurt out _I'm married_ , but I held my tongue. "No, sir."

"Shame. We get more money for virgins. All right, get out of my sight and get a new dress from one of the girls."

By nightfall, I had already donned a new blue dress that was far too low-cut and tight for my liking, and I shifted in it uncomfortably as the other girls and I sat in the bar, waiting on our male customers. I watched as men I could only describe as terrifying and creepy, respectively, picked up Josephine and Vivian. A handsome Italian man whisked Elizabeth away, and then it was just me and the other dozen-or-so girls.

And then a figure walked through the front door of the pub.

He was unrecognizable to many, in his long black coat, black hat and lowered chin—but I recognized him all the same. He knew this, because he waltzed right up to me and sat in the chair beside me.

"So," he said in a scratchy voice, "What's a fella like me gotta do to get a girl like you for the night?" My husband winked at me and scooted himself closer to me—if any other man had done that to me, I would've deemed him creepy, but I had to suppress a laugh at my _husband_ doing this.

"I love you," I mouthed.

"I love that dress on you," he said with a smirk, looking me straight in the eye and telling me exactly what he wanted to follow that statement.

"Your charge is half-off, I'm new here," I said loudly, before lowering my voice. "Let's go."

I'd been deemed my own room—there was a million rooms in this place—and I led him up the zigzagging stairs to it. I was way too excited. An hour before, I had been terrified to meet the man who'd buy my first night as a prostitute, but here was my husband, snatching me away as though it was just us on our honeymoon once again.

I swung my door open, and he slammed it shut almost immediately after he stepped into the room, pushed me against the wall, and kissed me hard. I shoved him away with both hands, gasping for breath and surpassing a laugh at him. "Take that outfit off before you kiss me, you slimy dog," I teased, "I want my husband, not some brothel scum kissing me."

In one fluid motion, he yanked his hat from his head and flung it across the room, shrugged his coat off of his shoulders, and began to kiss me again.

"Tintin," I gasped, "Shouldn't we…talk about our situation?"

"We can talk later," he answered gruffly.

"But isn't…the reason you're here…" I mumbled between kisses, "To talk?"

"I'm here to kiss my wife," he said, silencing me with his lips. Then he stepped back and chuckled at me, which only made my cheeks flush bright pink. "My God, I love you, Nollie. And I've missed you. Not being with you today just felt wrong." He looped his arms around my waist and tugged me closer.

"I know. I missed you, too. This place is rotten to the core."

"As I would expect." He dropped his grasp on me and walked over to the bed, motioning for me to join him. "I wish I could tell you that you look beautiful, but I feel as though I'm talking to another woman at the moment." Oh, right. I was still wearing Catherine's face and hair.

"Do you want me to take it off? Because I could, and I want to. Especially for you."

He looked as though he wanted to say no, but he hesitated and finally agreed. "Yes. Please do." I ducked into the bathroom attached to my room, scrubbed the makeup off and pulled my hair back to his normal length. When I stared at myself in the mirror—makeupless, an unruly mess of long brown hair draped over my shoulders, I finally felt like me again.

Tintin appeared in the doorway behind me and smiled at me through the mirror. "There you are," he teased, "There was this other girl here that looked like you, but she clearly _wasn't_ you. Her hair was short and her makeup was dense enough to drown a man." He stepped towards me, lacing his arms around my waist and planting a kiss on my shoulder. "Gosh, you're beautiful."

I looked at him through the mirror and it felt as though my heart was being wrenched from my chest. What if I couldn't get out of here? What if the rest of our lives was spent in secrecy? I wanted to go home. I wanted to go back to England, where my books were, where our lives were. I didn't want to be here any longer, and it had only been a day. What if someone else bought me before he had the chance to tomorrow night? I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

Tears welled in my eyes at the thought of having to give myself to another man. Tintin, who'd been resting his chin on my shoulder, staring at the sink in front of me, met my eyes in the mirror. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" His voice was doused in concern. I turned into his embrace as the tears turned into weeping.

"What if I can't get out of here? What if I have to spend the rest of my life selling myself to other men?"

"Oh, darling, you know that won't be the case…" His voice was a low rumble in his chest, a sound I found extremely comforting. He held me there, pressing his lips against my hair, and began to speak ever so softly. "These men will face double charges the moment we can prove them guilty of murdering those girls, for they are running a brothel. As soon as we do that, you'll be set free."

Relief floods my chest when he says this, and I give him a watery smile. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

I recount the events that happened today, when I was signing my contract to the brothel owners. "Tintin," I said softly, "When I was signing my contract this morning…I asked Aroldo what would happen to me if I didn't sign."

He looked at me as though he already was sure of what I was going to say.

"He said that either I signed, or I went to meet my maker. Is that…"

Something dark flashed through his gray eyes as he considered that his wife had been threatened by such a criminal. "Proof? Yes."

"So is that it, then?"

"Well, yes and no. Yes because you received a verbal threat from the owner of a brothel who also probably murdered two young girls, and no because there is no proof of him threatening you. For all the police are concerned, you're a scared girl who made it all up."

"What about my contract? Could that be used as evidence?"

"Nollie, if you can get one or both of the Marlborough brothers to confess to murdering the two girls as well as running a brothel, then that is truly our best option."

"Okay then, I have a plan."

* * *

 **I got so sentimental when I realized I finished this chapter and that the next one-or-two chapters will be my last of Tintin and Nollie's story :( I don't know about you guys, but I love to reread these stories. I just love thinking about how much Tintin and Nollie love each other, and I love to picture Tintin in these scenarios - falling and being in love with Nollie, being a hero, reading the newspaper in the morning...golly, I just love these two, and I'm so sad that soon their story will be over :( All good things must come to an end, though.**

 **Anyway, I hope you LOVED this chapter! If you did, make sure to review/favorite/follow me & my stories! It means a lot, you have no idea :) **

**See you in the next chapter! :) ~DisneyPrincess55**


	11. Chapter 11

**_HELLO FRIENDS!_ I have returned at long last from the depths of homework land to bring you CHAPTER ELEVEN! So sorry for the long absence, I kept thinking about the story and my heart would ache because I'm so close to being done with my final Tintin and Nollie story for the foreseeable future, which is killing me, because I love these characters that I've brought to life throughout the past four and a half years (dang!) and I just don't want to say goodbye just yet. I hope you can all bear with me as I face both my final weeks of fall term + come to terms with saying goodbye to Tintin and Nollie and putting them to rest. Again, I apologize for not updating sooner. I opened the Scriv doc containing all of the Tintin and Nollie stories just this evening and discovered THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER was DONE but just needed a few more sentences...I don't know why I didn't post it sooner. All right, onto the story! :) Sorry for keeping you so long. Love you all! ~DP55**

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Eleven

Plan

It sounded easier than it would probably turn out to be: Tintin wouldn't actually leave tomorrow morning. Rather, I would dress him up to look like a girl (a task that also sounded easier than it probably was), he would come downstairs with me and I would introduce him as a new recruit. Before he went in to sign his contract, however, he'd expose the Marlboroughs for murder and have them arrested. Then I'd be set free, returning on my honeymoon once more with my husband.

I stifled a laugh as I swiped a makeup brush across Tintin's face. He was trying his best to hold still, but the ends of his mouth kept curving upwards in a smile. "You're pretty," he said, and I shot him a look filled with a thousand darts.

"And _you're_ supposed to be a girl," I teased.

"I can't even muster a girl voice."

"I'll do all your talking." I'd swiped a red wig from Elizabeth's room and fitted it to my husband's head, and we'd taken a dozen pieces of tissue paper and stuffed them in his blouse to make him appear endowed. He had on an ankle-length floral skirt to hide his plain-giveaway, masculine legs. I prayed with every fiber of my being that nobody would notice she was actually a _he_.

"Do I really _have_ to wear makeup?"

"It's just foundation. Besides, if I have to, then you do, too," I winked. "For better or for worse, right?"

"I…I never said for better or for worse." His vows echoed through my head again—as if I could forget them. _Anyone can say 'in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer'—but we are not just anyone. With this ring, I promise to love and cherish you in all the days of my life. I promise to be your light in the dark, a beacon for which you know you are safe beside and you know you can always return to. This ring exists as a reminder that I have chosen you above all others to share my life with._

"Weeeell…" I struggled to find the words to back me up.

"It's all right, Nollie. Now _I_ look pretty." I giggled at his remark, which only made him smile wider. "Gosh, I love your laugh. I cannot wait until it's just the two of us again."

"Me either." I played with the wig until it looked like it had fallen naturally over his shoulders. "What's your name, pretty girl?"

"What about Magnolia?" He asked, flicking his eyebrows upward.

"Well, we don't need to put that much thought into it. It'll only be used maybe five times, so Magnolia is fine. Magnolia what?"

"Magnolia McGregor."

"Perfect."

I ushered my husband—er, Magnolia McGregor—downstairs to the red room a few minutes later, praying nobody got suspicious. To my luck, none of the girls even looked up upon our arrival into the room. I led Magnolia over to the Marlborough's door and knocked on it firmly. It opened, and Cesare stepped out.

"Cesare," I smiled. "I have a new recruit."

He gave me a puzzled expression and was about to turn away when Tintin— _Magnolia_ —stopped him, speaking quick Italian in a girl voice. My heart stopped. "Aspetta! Non andare, voglio un lavoro!" [Wait! Don't go, I want a job!]

"Tu? Vuole un lavoro? Non una possibilità. Troppo brutto!" [You? Want a job? Not a chance. Too ugly!]

Aroldo appeared in the doorway behind his brother. "Cesare? Qual è il problema?" He stepped into the red room and, upon spying me, sneered. "What do _you_ want, Hilton?"

"My friend wants a job. This is Magnolia McGregor."

"Does she know the rules?"

I exchange a glance with Tintin, his gray eyes wide as he looked at me. "No, she doesn't."

"Ah. Well, sweetheart, this is the best job in Venice! We feed you, give you clothes and a place to live, all for free!"

"But what is the job I will be doing?" Tintin raised an eyebrow at Aroldo, "Because you have yet to tell me…"

"I'm sure you've heard of prostitution, haven't you, Miss McGregor?" Tintin swallowed at the audacity of Aroldo's question, but he still nods. It's then that I noticed we had the attention of every person in the room—Vivian, Elizabeth, Josephine…all of their girls. Perfect time to expose them.

"Is that the line of work I would be doing?" Magnolia looks horrified. "What if I decide to quit?"

"There is no quitting," Aroldo said with a sneer, "If you accept, then you sign a contract. If you try to back out of your contract, well, you get to meet a good friend of mine."

"Who is your friend?" I could hear Tintin's voice quiver, and I was unsure if he was faking it or if he was _really_ scared.

Aroldo rolled his eyes and pulled a gun from a holster attached to his belt and displayed it in front of Tintin. I let out a shriek and clutched Tintin's arm tightly. "Oh my God," I gasped, "Put that thing away, you fool."

"Or don't." I was confused to hear Tintin's voice rather than Magnolia's, and even more concerned when I watched him remove his wig. "Aroldo Marlborough. Do you realize that the pistol you are holding is a very rare one?"

"Why if it isn't Tintin," Aroldo snarled, his gaze snapping to me, "And I assume Catherine Hilton is just your wife in disguise, then?"

Tintin ignored him. "That pistol is a nine millimeter Gilsenti, the very gun you used to shoot Lucille Ravenna and Moira Chatfield." He reached into the pocket of my dress and pulled out the bullet shell we'd found by the crime scene. "This is my proof."

Vivian stepped forward courageously. "That's right, he did shoot those girls. They tried to escape, and—"

Aroldo whipped around, pointing the barrel of the gun at her forehead. "Shut _up_ , you ignorant slut," he spat, "Or I'll put you six feet under as well." Vivian stiffened at his threat, and Tintin tugged at my arm as Aroldo turned back to us, gun still pointed at Vivian. "Now, Cesare and Leonard are going to escort you to the holding room, where you'll stay until we can figure out what to do with you."

"Probably shoot us," I said, rolling my eyes. I'd dropped my American accent by then.

Aroldo glared at me. "I want Signora Nollie here gagged."

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a cramped room with Tintin and all of the girls who'd been in the room with us, more than likely awaiting our execution. "I should've called the police," Tintin huffed for the twelfth time. He'd gently removed my gag a minute after we were locked away.

I gave him a sad smile. "Everything is going to be all right."

"I don't think so," said Vivian, leaning against the wall furthest from the door, staring at her shoes. "We won't be the first ones they kill, that's for sure."

Elizabeth looked lost in thought. "I just cannot believe that they murdered Moira and Lucille. They'd been here for two days at most. And they were so pretty. They most certainly did not belong here."

"Do any of us belong here?" I scoffed. Tintin shot me a look that was a mix of him telling me to shut up and agreeing with me.

"No, but they sure make you feel that way," Josephine murmured softly, hugging her arms close to herself. "They make you feel worthless in every single way except for what you do with customers behind closed doors."

I glanced at my husband, who was somberly staring at the floor. I shouldn't say somberly, because I could see the gears turning in his head as he plotted a way for us to get out of here. The girls went quiet, and the room was suddenly painstakingly silent.

At long last, he looked up at me and smiles.

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 **All right, that's it for now. I'll see you all very soon, and happy December! :) ~DisneyPrincess55 (aka Katy)**


	12. Chapter 12 - Finale

**Well, here it is: the final chapter of the final Tintin and Nollie story. I had this one all finished around December, but then I was dumb and somehow got that chapter deleted :P SO I rewrote it and I'm publishing it today, Good Friday 2017, because the first time I watched _The Adventures of Tintin_ was April 14, 2012. Happy Tintin-iversary to me :)  
One last time... I'll see you guys at the bottom :) ~DP55**

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Twelve

Finale

"Are you sure it'll work?" I asked for the thousandth time.

"Of course I'm sure." He winked and nodded to Elizabeth, who gulped, ducked her head down for a heartbeat and murmured something inaudible before stepping towards the door and knocking loudly on it.

The man standing on the other side of the door shifted, and the stream of light that had been coming in between the door and the doorjamb was cut off, interrupted by a shadow crossing before it. A gruff voice grumbled something in Italian, and Elizabeth set her jaw and shot a glare at Tintin (to which he either ignored or just didn't see) before responding, "I need to use the toilet." The man on the other side laughed deeply and the stream of light returned as he stepped away. Elizabeth looked at Tintin, mouth wide, eyes accusing. Tintin shrugged, and she huffed. "Francisco, if you have any heart at all, you will let us out. Please. Just for a moment. I know the others are gone right now." Her voice was calm but accusing. She more than likely had a history with Francisco. "Please."

I heard the jingling of keys, and then, finally, the sound of a latch sliding back into its home. The door creaked open, and Francisco glared at Elizabeth. She stood taller at his gaze. He muttered something, and she nodded before stepping into the light. Vivian followed, but Francisco stopped her. I heard Elizabeth's voice from somewhere in the room, "You will let them all out. I promise they won't be any trouble. It's only for a moment. We'd like to stretch our legs before we die."

Tintin pushed something into my hand, cold metal. I shoved it back into his, glancing at his response out of the corner of my eye. _No way am I shooting anyone._ Not on our honeymoon. Not ever. He swallowed and set his jaw, pocketing his pistol. I don't even know where he got a pistol. Did he bring it with him? On our _honeymoon_?

No matter that. It was our turn to exit the closet.

The lights stung as I stepped into the room. I was walking towards the other girls when I realized that Tintin was not beside me…which was not part of our plan. Francisco said something in jumbled English—something along the lines of "aren't you coming, too?" To which my husband, emerging from the closet, ignored. Rather, he looked at me and nodded.

"Vivian, call the police!" I pointed towards the telephone attached to the wall, "Go now!"

Francisco shouted something in his jumbled English and pulled a pistol on Tintin right as I was turning back towards him.

" _NO!_ " I screamed, a moment too soon, because Tintin had already pulled his own from his pocket.

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to shriek. "Don't!" She nearly ran towards the two, hands outstretched, "Put the guns down. Put them down. Please. Fran. Tintin. Please." She looked absolutely desperate. Now I _really_ wanted to know who Francisco was to her.

She stepped between my husband and Francisco, her hands on the barrel of Francisco's gun, using all her strength to get him to lower it a little. "Put it down. It's all right. They are our friends, and they're going to turn in the Marls. You'll be free. We will all be free from them. Don't you want that?"

Francisco considered her words for a moment, and his features transformed from euphoria to stone in a matter of seconds. "The Marls are my friends, you ignorant slut," he growled. In a flurry of commotion, a gun—no, _two_ guns were fired as he propelled Elizabeth backwards with his bullet and Tintin put a bullet in his brain before catching Elizabeth as she fell to the ground, clutching her abdomen.

I couldn't shriek in horror. I couldn't call her name. My throat went dry as I stumbled towards them, Vivian and Josephine standing frozen behind me.

"Call an ambulance," Tintin said, scrambling to hold Elizabeth in a way that wouldn't hurt her or make her bleed out any faster, "Call an—"

"No," Elizabeth stared up at him, bloodied hand reaching up to touch his jaw, "No. No ambulance. It's too late for that."

I knelt beside her and took her free hand, staring up at Tintin. "This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. Oh, Elizabeth…"

There was blood on her teeth when she smiled at me, and tears streaming down her face. "Don't be sad. Don't pity me, Nollie. You go. Take the rest of the girls and get them out of here. It will be all right." She squeezed my hand with her cold, pale one, and smiled at me. Vivian and Josephine were flanking me now, each letting out muffled sobs.

"You were too good for this place," I said, voice shaking, trying to fight back tears. "You were too good. You didn't belong here."

"Oh, but pretty thing, did any of us?" Her voice was faint. "I will be eternally grateful for you and that dashing husband of yours. I'm free now."

And then she was gone.

I bowed my head and let the tears slip past my eyelashes as Tintin closed her pretty blue eyes for the last time. Then he reached over and tapped my hand. "It's all right, Noll."

We called the police, and the Marlboroughs and their posse showed up right after they did. They were taken away in handcuffs, not only for killing the girls, but also for running a brothel. Tintin explained the scenario that had lead to Francisco and Elizabeth's deaths, and we departed with Vivian and Josephine, back to our hotel. The girls clung onto each other, taking in the Venice landscape as though they were seeing it for the first time. In a way, they were. They were free now. No longer would two brothers and their posse dominate over them and keep them from truly living. They were free, just as Elizabeth now was.

We took the girls back to our hotel room and offered for them to use our telephone to call their families.

"I don't think my mother would want to talk to me," Vivian said, sitting at the foot of the bed and hiding behind her red curls, "I ran away and became a whore. How could she ever want to talk to me again?"

"She would probably be overjoyed to hear your voice again and know you're all right," I said, touching her cheek, "Wouldn't you be overjoyed to hear _her_ voice?"

She nodded briskly. "I would. I miss her terribly."

Josephine watched somberly as Vivian spoke to the operator. "I have no family. My fiancé left me for someone else when he found out where I was." I glanced at Tintin. _How could he not understand that she had been tricked?_

"I am so terribly sorry."

She shrugged.

A few minutes later, Vivian hung up the phone and went to sit beside Josephine again. "My mother is arranging my ticket home now." She grinned. "Jo, why don't you come with me?"

Josephine was quiet for awhile before smiling and nodding. "I don't see why not."

 **EPILOGUE**

My husband smiled at me from behind his glass of red wine as we sat outside a picturesque shop in Verona. I, of course, had opted for a bowl of chocolate gelato. I was wearing a brand-new floral sundress he had purchased for me on our last day in Venice, despite my advising against it. "A gentleman always spoils his incredible wife," he said with a wink as he paid the cashier.

"I wonder what sort of adventures we will find next," he said, setting his glass down and reaching across the table to tangle his fingers with mine.

My heart was so happy and full, I was sure I'd burst as I beamed and leaned in towards him.

"Whatever it is, as long as we're together, I'm in."

 **THE END**

* * *

 **I'm not crying, you're crying.**

 **But seriously. As I was finishing this chapter I was like, "I DON'T WANT IT TO BE OVER!" But, sadly, good things must come to an end. I will miss writing these stories, and I will miss all of you loyal readers :) I hope we can all keep in touch: I'll periodically post on Tintin and Nollie's tumblr blog (google search tintinnollie), and if you really miss me, you can always PM me! :)**

 **I love you all, and thank you so much for all your support over the last five years. Thank you for helping me grow into the writer I am today with these stories. Thank you for loving Tintin and Nollie as much as I do :) (okay maybe not Nollie, cause she's my baby, but y'know;))**

 **~DisneyPrincess55, aka Katy**

 _"_ _The choices we make change the path that we take_

 _But I know_

 _That somewhere out there there's a path that we chose_

 _There's a life that we share, there's a love and it grows"_

 _Golden, by Zayn_


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